


Saints and Sinners

by kleptoandpyro



Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Bottom Barry Allen, Dante Alighieri - Freeform, Eventual Smut, Heaven & Hell, Humor, Leonard Snart Big Bang, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Religious Conflict, Religious Humor, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rimming, Saints & Sinners (The Flash TV 2014), Seven Deadly Sins, Seven Heavenly Virtues, Sin!Len, Sins & Virtues, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Supernatural Elements, The Divine Comedy, Top Leonard Snart, Virtue!Barry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 13:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15886965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleptoandpyro/pseuds/kleptoandpyro
Summary: Len is the embodiment of Avarice, one of the Seven Cardinal Sins, both injecting Greed into the world and drawing power from its influence. Balance is maintained by the opposing efforts of both he and his counterpart, Charity, but when he feels his influence start to grow, well, Len isn’t exactly surprised when his nemesis calls a meeting.Based on Dante Alighieri's 'The Divine Comedy'.Written for the Leonard Snart Big Bang 2018





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri. Spot all the references and win the grand prize of my awe and respect.

Leonard moves slowly, precisely down the silent corridor, his gun humming blue light into the still gloom. He doubts he’ll have to use it, he’s looked at the guard rotations, learned their routes, their changeover times, even their names, and timed it just so he’ll cross them as they move through the building flanks, passing like ships in the night.

Besides, he's winding his way through the most intricate part of the museum filled with alcoves, side passages and staff rooms - a section of the blueprint he’d committed to memory in the planning stages - so Mick stands a better chance of getting iced than a member of the security.

Which, in a strange way, actually frustrated him.

He’d pulled a number of heists lately, more than he usually would, and the only thing that had managed to test his skills as a thief had been leg cramp last week during an artillery job. He’d outsmarted security measures at every corner, been in and out before the CCPD even knew what day it was, and the _Flash…_

Len lets out a silent sardonic chuff through his nose.

 _The Flash,_ had barely graced Len with his presence over the past few months; turning up late, barely posing a challenge in face-offs, sometimes not even turning up at all. Now, Len wasn’t a bitter man, but the kid had awoken in him a new energy, new outlook on the way he did the job, and he had honestly been starting to enjoy himself, enjoyed the rivalry. And now, it was almost a step backward, a torment all its own.

He passes a room filled with trinkets, glass boxes as tall as trees reflecting the pale light of the exit signs, shapes dancing in the glass. The relics within shine. There are gold things encrusted with jewels, caskets and cabinets holding curios, and cases displaying what looks to be prized animal hide; lion, leopard and wolf among others.

Len’s fingers itch.

But he wasn’t here for anything in there, he already had what he came here for...in part. He hadn’t told Mick - safely carting the ruby away on the other side of the building - but he’d fashioned his own escape route past another room, one which he’d felt compelled to visit for quite some time.

He checks his watch. He’s still got 11 minutes; just enough time to drop in.

Turning the corner brings him out into an open space and on his right, grand doors to the room in question, huge and ornate, inscribed with intricate passages, religious imagery and classical themes.

It’s part of the new renovation, something flashy to get the crowds rolling in, and he’s loathed to admit they did a great job, though moving them without the power on is not going to be easy.

But with the key he’d swiped earlier, unlocking them at least should be no trouble.

The things give a slight clang as they’re freed from their bonds and Len freezes, listening for any signs of movement.

When he’s sure he’s in the clear, he lets the entrance fall open, passing through.

The triangular beams of blue energy on the tip of his gun light his way, display cases on the walls glinting in its halo. But the centre piece is what Len is here for and he’s happy to find that a lamp, unconnected to the main power supply, leans over the case.

He flicks the switch bathing a thick, yellowed book in white light.

 

The Divine Comedy _by Dante Alighieri_

 

If Mick were here he might’ve called risking hard time for a book a ‘comedy’ in itself, but Len has his reasons for wanting to steal it: principal of all was his love of irony, second of all, the money; an original translation such as this would make a pretty penny in the correct circles.

He opens the case with a small screwdriver taken from his pocket, taking care not to make a sound. Once it’s off, his hand hovers over the text for a moment, almost reverently, before he’s turning a fragile page with a gloved finger.

Third of all, it was practically his duty, being the embodiment of _Avarice_ itself, one of the seven _Cardinal Sins._

Each lifetime he was reborn into a new form, spreading his _influence_ to the world of men and growing the agency, as it were.

Together with the _Virtue_ _Charity_ , he maintained the _Balance_. When one’s _influence_ became too great, the other would respond to it in what was meant to be a serious gig, but in actuality, and in more lifetimes than one, usually turned into a pissing contest.

A pissing contest that he was winning by a long margin.

Len lets out another chuff through his nose.

It should’ve pleased him that his counterpart was slacking something fierce of late, should’ve given him a hard-on that the world was bending to his will, and it did, oh _it did,_ but in a way it also didn’t. And it annoyed him. It annoyed him that he was concerned with a person he’d never met and that this person was just letting him win: no challenge.

And the Powers That Be didn’t take kindly to listlessness. A _Sin_ or _Virtue_ that wouldn’t play ball was often...removed. Unless you were _Sloth_ in which case you were doing your job just fine; on a side note, Len had often wondered if he was like this because of the entity within him, or if the entity within him was placed there because of his career choice.

In any case, whichever it was, he still loved every second if it.

He runs his fingers beneath the spine of the book, then around the hardcover. No wires, which meant no alarms.

So between his two nemeses, it felt to Len like the Universe had given up on him. But he was a stubborn son of a bitch, and that only made him work harder to get some damn attention.

_What fun was the Game if there was only one player?_

He lifts _Inferno_ from the holder and feels the indescribable swell of energy within him, spurring him on, seeping into the room, caressing the back of his neck in a woosh of warm air.

_A woosh of warm air?_

“I wouldn’t take that if I were you,” comes a reverberating voice from behind him. “Unless you miss Iron Heights, in which case, go right ahead.”

Len had to hand it to the Universe for its impeccable timing.

He hesitates for a long moment, then rests the book back on the holder, turning slowly to greet the familiar presence; his face a silhouette in the lamplight behind. “Crawling back, Flash? And here’s me thinking you’d broken up with me,” he drawls, bitterness bleeding through just a tad.

Barry has a sheepish expression on his face; even beneath the cowl, Len can see it. “I can explain?”

Len rolls his eyes. “That’s what they all say.”

He sees Barry surreptitiously glance at a security camera, a now functioning camera, and Len wonders how long it’s been like that considering he’d had Mick sabotage the system before they’d made their break-in. No calling him, ‘Barry’ then.

The speedster wanders forward into the light but Len notes that he still keeps his distance.

He powers up his gun anyway.

“Interesting choice,” says Barry, indicating to the book. “I think the library has a modern copy you know, if you felt like some late night reading.”

Len still has two minutes, he’ll play along for now. He shrugs. “Lost my library card.”

The kid circles closer. “Ever thought about shopping online?”

“No permanent shipping address, confuses the UPS guy.”

“I could always just lend you mine.”

Len smirks, cocking his head slightly to one side. “Didn’t peg you for a lover of 14th Century Italian literature, Flash. Sure you wouldn’t prefer a comic?”

The kid smiles as he paces closer, then gestures at himself. “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”

He smirks. “I guess I kinda walked into that one.”

Len’s vaguely aware of footsteps and voices approaching. Seems like the guards have heard them. “Not that I don’t enjoy our little talks, Flash, but usually at this point there’d be some sort of superpowered face-off, or are we not doing that anymore? Cos let me tell you, kid, all this lack of action lately has got me all pent up...” He points his gun at the corridor where the footsteps are getting louder. “...And no one likes a _dicktease._ ”

The smile drops off the kid’s face; Len had taken extra care to let the gravity come across in his voice, the front of his body still cast in darkness.

Next second, Len’s stomach is jerking violently, there’s a light flashing around his eyes, a roaring in this ears, then he’s skidding to a halt on hard concrete, the cool night air on his face. He’s miraculously still holding onto his gun.

“You have questions, I have answers.” The voice is normal now, but the tremor isn’t completely gone.

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean,” Len says, turning to meet the kid’s eyes.

They’re outside, somewhere nondescript in the docklands area, still close enough to walk into the city but far enough away so they won’t attract attention.

The younger man lets out a sigh, his breath comes out in a white puff. “We need to talk, properly, tonight.”

Len’s eyebrows rise. “So you _are_ breaking up with me.”

“Come to _Saints and Sinners_ at 11; it’s somewhere we won’t draw attention; the topic I had in mind is a little...need to know.”

Len regards the kid and furrows his brow. “And what topic would that be?”

Barry looks him dead in the eye and Len swears he sees those irises turn greener. And the energy in Barry warms with something...unnatural, old, and very, _very familiar._ “ _Ill-giving and ill-keeping takes from all the fair world._ And how it’s my Duty to stop that.”

All that is ‘Captain Cold’, sans the poker face, falls from Len in an instant, and he looks at the kid as if he’s seeing him for the first time.

Barry crackles with energy, the sign of a speedy departure, imminent. “Told you I had a copy,” he says with a shrug. And he’s gone.

Len just stares after him for long moments, processing, as the dust settles.

Either the kid has a unique sense of humor, or disequilibrium now has a face.


	2. Chapter 2

The run-down building slowly comes into view as Len walks down the damp sidewalk. It’s pouring with rain, water running down the road beside him so it feels like he’s walking the shoreline of a black river. The starless night is misty, lit only by the neon arrow left of the entranceway he’s headed to, and he muses idly that the LEDs flash red and yellow; like the Universe is trying to tell him something.

He almost didn’t come, convincing himself the kid’s words were coincidence or just some attempt to bait him into a pointless meeting that wouldn’t resolve anything. But that didn’t explain the energy signature he felt, nor the words the speedster chose...nor the fact that both Flash and his counterpart have been absent in a remarkably similar way.

A honking horn draws his attention; an ancient looking man with white hair and beard pushing a shopping cart filled with trash is holding up a car, and Len takes his chance to cross the road.

“-depraved soul,” wheezes a voice.

Len stops in his tracks and turns to look at the source of the voice. It’s the vagrant, deaf to the honking car at his side, looking at Len intensely, his jowls quivering. “Eternal darkness is all that waits for you.”

It’s unnerving. Some say that certain denizens of Earth can see the _aura_ , with many getting branded over history as liars, conspiracy theorists, and even mentally unstable. He’s even heard rumours that these are the agents of Heaven and Hell sent to Earth to spy on them, making sure everyone is doing their job.

“You’ll never see Heaven!” he craws, waving a plastic bottle.

Len tightens his jacket further around himself, the seep of the rain starting to feel cold, and carries on. “Hadn’t planned on it,” he says, more to himself than anyone else.

Len walks up to the familiar door and he makes one last attempt to think of a reason to leave the kid hanging, but his feet are already taking him inside, and he abandons all hope of that as he pushes into the smoky warmth.

The smell of beer, leather and _sin_ billows into his lungs and Len has to smile to himself despite the circumstances.

 _Saints and Sinners:_ the seething underbelly of Central City serving patrons that spanned the spectrum of seedy, cutthroat and just downright bad news. Len had always felt right at home here, which amused him considering his first home had always felt like Iron Heights, and funnily enough, Iron heights had always felt like _Saints._ Go figure.

He takes note of the Hell’s Angels in the corner, siding with no one but themselves, the sleazy waitress - Lorna, he thinks she’s called - and a few turncoat Santini cousins shooting pool; he nods to all the aforementioned, some in respect, others in derision - he’ll leave them to decide which it is.

There are further rooms deeper inside and a basement for clandestine meetings but he steers clear of those, it typically gets worse the further you go; there are many circles that Len would simply never move in.

Yet despite the types that litter the place on a daily basis, there was never any _drama_ here, a kind of unspoken rule. You could bring as many cons and murderers, mercenaries and crooks into the place as you liked - no patron would rat on their own - but they _didn’t_ cause trouble, _Saints_ was neutral ground.

Len spots a mop of brown hair some ways into the room and muses that it was a good thing this rule existed. Otherwise, like a nun in a brothel, certain parties would invite much unwanted attention; which they shouldn’t considering the name of the joint.

Len raises a chin slightly and slides into the booth in question where the sore thumb was sat, apparently waiting for him.

Barry looks up from his untouched beer and locks on to Len’s gaze, a mating of ice blue and warm green. Yet despite the resolve, Len could’ve sworn those eyes had licked him from navel to cheekbone disguised in the flutter of a blink. “ _Avarice,_  you came.”

If Len had any doubts before on the identity of the kid, he certainly didn’t now.

But rather than let that blindsidedness show on his face, he does some visual reconnaissance of his own. Barry was in street clothes, hair not quite made, face not quite shaven; a collection of ‘not quites’. For all intents and purposes a normal looking youth in the wrong part of town, and yet underneath there was _something more._ And he zeroed in on it.

It was more a feeling than anything else; a thrumming core of lumity, wisdom and wholesomeness. And now that Len was close enough to touch knees, he could see that _virtuous aura_ , that warm ambience emphasising bright skin, dark lashes and gold flecked hair.

A normal person might attribute the radiance of the man in front of him as a meta thing, a side effect of holding lightning in your blood, but Len could see. Knew it was now the archaic entity within.

Yet despite the confirmation of his counterpart’s otherworldliness, it looked like he’d gotten as wet as Len, as if he’d walked here too. Len mused that surely superspeed gave a person _more_ time to make themselves presentable but then he remembered he wasn’t supposed to care about the kid’s appearance. His _nemesis_ since the Beginning.

“ _Charity.”_ He pronounces every letter, like he was trying it out for the first time. And in a way he was, in _this_ lifetime anyway. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Funny how we always seem to incarnate near one another these days. I should’ve been expecting this.” The last part he says with just a tad spite.

The kid smiles. “Or it’s just _Fate_.”

“Well maybe it’s high time I paid him a visit and remind him there’s a whole planet he could shove between us.” Len knew where he lived after all. “My cold gun isn’t picky.”

Barry/ _Charity_ just chuffs through his nose. Although this was an entity that Len had known since the start, like a long lost twin, the other side of the coin, as familiar as the day is long, he still sees the being before him as Barry. And he imagines the same goes for the kid.

The Powers had likely made it be that way. There had been incarnations where they’d hated each other, almost overstepping the boundary into _Wrath_ in previous lives as they’d clashed to maintain the balance. If they took that hatred and that memory with them in every lifetime they’d probably just end up killing each other more often than not - and a constantly body hopping _Cardinal Sin / Holy Virtue_ was bad news for the world.

“Bounty hunting isn’t exactly in your job description.”

“Speaking of day jobs, I can see why he picked this being for you. Explains the…” He waves his fingers in vague gesture. “ _Heroics_...and venue, for that matter,” he adds, lazily.

Barry - or that _pain in his ass,_  as he’d often thought of him over the generations - just smiles larger, something warm and twinkly that has Len trying to remember if he finds endearing or infuriating.

“I thought you’d appreciate it,” says Barry, leaning back and crossing his arms in an almost mirror image of Len. “You always did enjoy a pun.”

The remark was said almost tiredly, like the prospect was long old, and it just made Len’s smirk come back full force. “Oh believe me, there’s nothing more _enjoyable_ than a nemesis who’s losing his _influence._ ”

There was no point in beating around the bush, they both knew why they were here; even if Barry wasn’t expecting the bluntness of it, Len assumed, by the way green eyes suddenly pierced back into Len’s with vigor.

Then the kid leans forward, an intensity pink on his face; but Len just waits calmly for whatever lecture he was about to receive. It was practically tradition at this point, both as his counterpart and the Flash; and who was he to upset that.

“This ends today; the constant heists you’ve got going on, the _influence_ spreading to the city - to the rest of the world, using the _nudge_ on _innocent bystanders_ -” Barry was gesticulating more and more and honestly it just made Len’s eyebrow climb higher and higher. “You know the rules, we BOTH know the rules, the _Balance_ has to be maintained. So the thieving, the shady business, the _Rogues..._ It ends, it ALL ends, today,” finished his booth-mate, jamming an index finger onto the sticky table in emphasis.

He shrugs his shoulders briskly. “What if I don’t want to.”

“Then I’ll make you.” There’s a threat in there somewhere.

Len regards a beermat with poised fingers. “Well pardon me for raining on your parade but I haven’t seen much evidence of that recently, _Flash._ ” Feline eyes flicked to Barry’s. “In fact, I’d even say you were doubting yourself of late; half assed attempts to crash my jobs, not even turning up in some cases. So sorry if I’m not exactly holding my breath over here.”

“I’ve always stopped you,” states Barry, the good superhero voice full of surety and justice. “Whenever you’d gotten out of control I’ve always been there to reign you back in. That’s the way it is, the way it’s always been-”

“And how many times has that actually stuck, hmm,” he interjects, posing an outright challenge to the speedster...the _Virtue,_ he corrects himself.

But said _Virtue_ was silent, regarding Len tersely across the chasm of polished wood.

“The crimewave of 14th Century London, Black Hand gangs in 1900’s New York, even phishing scams nowadays,“ Len lists with fingers. “All attempts to _reign me back_ and _restore the blessed balance_ all have one thing in common - they never last.”

Barry just tenses and untenses his jaw and Len dives back in while he has momentum.

“Despite all your short term victories, all you’ve ever managed to do is stave off the greed of the world for a short time before the itch comes right back and they all start lining their pockets once more. So tell me…” He rolls long fingers, a staccato in the air, before plucking the beer bottle out before Barry and drawling, “Why should this time be any different?” before taking a deep swig.

He definitely didn’t miss the eyes this time: flicking down to the bottle rim, now wrapped in Len’s lips, lingering on it, then meeting his gaze once more. At least the kid had the decency to look embarrassed this time, light blush climbing his face, dropping the eye contact. And then Len feels something, a flutter in that _virtuous energy,_ fleeting like the light from a street lamp flickering due to poor wiring or insufficient energy.

_Well that was new._

But the moment doesn’t last when the tattooed waitress - ‘Leah’, according to the nametag, close enough, Len thinks - suddenly approaches the table toting, with some difficulty, an exotic tray of drinks. She stops chewing gum for a moment to blow a bottle blonde lock from her eyes. “Two bloody Marys?”

“Try Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,” says Len in a bored tone, indicating to the Family still lording over the pool table with a flick of his eyes.

But he can see Barry fidgeting in his seat, seeing an area where he can re-balance, and sure enough: “Here, let me help,” offers Barry, almost catching the table rim with how quickly he rises.

Len sees the dismissive response on her tongue right before she feels that envelope of warmth surrounding her, sees the liveliness in the kid’s toothy smile and can’t refuse the call of kindness. The 180 is inevitable. “Sure, sugar!”

Mankind just couldn’t say no the the _nudge_ \- when a _Vice_ or _Virtue_ got a little close, or handsy, and some of that energy transferred across.

Strictly speaking they were only meant to use it on each other, but _accidents_ happen.

Nor could they fail to pass on that energy like a baton, evidenced by Leah picking up a $5 bill from the floor and giving it back to a burly biker who’d dropped it.

Only when Barry flops back onto the worn black seat does Len get down to brass tacks (but not before slotting in a quick sarcastic, “Charity never faileth,” which ironically never failed to get a rise out of his counterpart).

“So, allow me to get this ball rolling, _Flash,_ because it’s honestly been bugging me of late.”

The slightest squeak of denim on leather is the only sign the other had heard the comment.

“How does a _Virtue,_ with sunshine and butterflies flying out of his ass, able to encompass any mortal in an otherworldly grip of _Charity_ and _Kindness,_ and feed off the good deeds of every religioso, good samaritan and - otherwise - ‘nice guy’ to roam the Earth, fail to draw on that well of energy put a stop to the very thing which he was literally created to neutralise.”

It’s only when it all comes out of his mouth does Len realise how... _chastising_ it sounds. Like a parent scolding a child for not doing their homework.

Len takes another draw of beer to distract himself, somehow satisfied - in a way - that this action still elicits a bobbing Adam’s apple and redirecting of eyes from the kid. But Barry seems to get his mojo back once the accusation of weakness catches up with him.

“There’s nothing wrong with my _influence_.” He says it quickly, the meaning diluted slightly with outrage.

Len smirks dark and wry. Feels his own aura pulse at the challenge. “So you won’t mind if I test that theory.”

He lets his cool fingers brush like mist against Leah as she walks past, feeling smug as she hesitates for a moment before swiping the very $5 bill she had graciously returned out of the back of the biker Bill’s pocket.

“Stop it,” says Barry, long suffering and terse.

Len only puts a foot out, making a passing Santini stumble; but rather than be put out at the action, the man seems far more interested in snatching a drink off the bar while the bartender’s back is turned.

Barry cases the room, superquick, to see if anyone notices. “That’s-” He lowers his voice to a stage whisper. “That’s _enough._ ” Not-of-this-Earth green eyes are suddenly vibrant with energy, both _virtuous_ and speed energy he knows the kid is dying to use on him. But not here, not in Switzerland.

Len isn’t in a charitable mood.

He just smiles wolfish, says, “Nothing personal, Flash, just good business,” and sends the beermat he’d been fingering sailing across the room and into the heart of the Hell’s Angels’ table. After a moment, the poker game taking place begins to get more animated as a member is accused of cheating. Within no time, men are standing and voices are raised. Barely a second more and the first fists are flying.

“I said _that’s enough!”_ says Barry over the ruckus, grabbing Len’s wrist and slamming it back down onto the table.

Len only briefly catches the ‘Oh Shit’ look in Barry’s face before they both brace for the impact, for the collision of dark clashing against light - Heaven smashing into Hell -  likely sending him and Barry back into the backrests, and the stink of ozone to erupt from the touch; it’s a reaction long ingrained into his being. Being in the vicinity was bad enough, but touching your counterpart’s _skin_ is like electrifying a raw nerve; there was a reason that Earth was the filling of the Divine and Damned sandwich.

But it doesn’t happen. He feels his core undulate, sees the mirage of Barry’s aura flex in the light, but nothing more.

In fact, the only thing Barry grabbing him manages to achieve is spilling the beer. Beer that has sloshed over the table and down Len’s jeans going by the cold sensation on his crotch.

Ordinarily his fist would already be in the face of anyone dumb enough to spill beer on _Captain Cold_ , but he’s too dumbfounded by what’s just happened to react accordingly.

“I don’t understand,” says the kid, looking at his hands as if they’re the cause of whatever the Hell that was.

Len’s eyes narrow. Shenanigans from his counterpart attempting to stop him, he could handle, but an outright power failure was too concerning to let go.

“Neither do I,” he states, standing, grabbing the _Virtue_ by the jacket and pulling him out of the booth.


	3. Chapter 3

Luckily most in the bar are preoccupied with the biker brawl to notice Len dragging a twenty-something year old kid round the back to the private men’s room. But he still tries to do it quickly; he had a rep after all.

But when he gets there, he finds someone has been using the disused corridor as a stash point for damaged tables, one of them leaning directly over the door he needed.

“Don’t move,” he throws at Barry before going to one end, placing both hands on the wood and giving a great heave.

Chuffing out short breaths and using his entire weight, the damn thing slowly starts to wheel across the entranceway. It’s times like this he thinks maybe joining the gym wouldn’t be such a bad idea, Len is strong but he isn’t ‘Mick strong,’ and he doesn’t relish the laughter inevitably coming his way tomorrow morning when he’s making coffee in the safehouse, stiff as a board. That is if he doesn’t keel over first and wake up in A&E.

The sweat is prickling his back and his shoulders are aching by the time he’s done but he doesn’t hang about to curse his fitness or lack thereof, instead simply nabbing Barry and carefully moving inside the room.

Len throws the spluttering kid into the empty space and shuts the door behind them. He doesn’t bother trying to lock it properly, _Saints_ hasn’t had a dime thrown at it since _he_ was a kid, and the fixtures are usually the first to go.

“ _What the_ _Hell ar-_ ”

“ **Explain** ,” he says in his best Captain Cold voice. The kind that makes henchmen crap their pants and scramble to follow his orders.

But Barry just backs up against the sinks and palms the back of his neck, leg bouncing in nervous energy.

Len slowly stalks forward, as menacing as he can be with a wet crotch. “This isn’t a coincidence is it. Faltering in your saintly duties and now I learn there’s problems at the holy substation. What _aren’t_ you telling me, _Flash_ ,” he says, low and direct.

“I don’t know what-”

“I’ll rephrase, then,” he cuts in. “What aren’t you telling me, _Charity._ ”

The use of his given name makes the kid look up at Len, that vibrance returning to his eyes and his core flickering again. The otherworldly green stands out against the old, graffitied, white tile of their surroundings, and Len prowls closer, slightly drawn in by the colour.

But Barry doesn’t say a word, his throat bobbing.

And Len finds he’s growing tired of the silent treatment.

“You invite me here to talk shop yet you don’t have anything to say, you try to convince me to recede some of my _influence_ yet you have no leverage.” His shoes squeak when he steps through some water spill from the sink. “You try and _nudge_ me back over the line and it turns out that you can’t.” He’s an arm length away, crowding the other’s space more with every step. “And throughout all of this you’ve been blinking on and off like a badly wired light bulb for the first time in all of our existence, something which isn’t exactly filling me with confidence for my own power supply.”

He slams a palm against the wall next to the younger man’s head effectively boxing him in the corner between sinks and wall, thrilling over the jerk it causes. They’ve never been so close, intimacy never permitted like two north poles of a magnet. And Len knows that Barry is as dizzy as the prospect as he.

“You’ve been letting me get away with murder for months...And I wanna know _why_.”

The kid laves a dry lip, shifting under the weight of _Sin_ surrounding him, or perhaps the weight of something else Len can’t see. Flash could easily extricate himself, phase through the wall, run Len to the nearest precinct in the blink of an eye and drop him on his ass right in front of Detective West; all of the above.

But he doesn’t, allowing this, allowing Len’s _aura_ to encompass his and hold him in place. Although he’s likely just honouring the neutral ground, Leonard finds he likes that thought more than he should.

“Better spit it out, Flash, or I might just walk out of here and pretend this little intervention never happened!” And he means it.

“One…”

He pushes further into Barry’s personal space.

“T _wo…_ ”

The kid has to find purchase on the stained fibreglass countertop to stay upright.

“Thr-”

But he doesn’t finish. It’s only when Len’s crowding forces Barry against the low row of sinks, back arched, hips curved forward, does Len realise he’s not the only one enjoying the new found intimacy.

_Not if the bulge in those jeans is anything to go by._

He snaps his eyes upward to the green ones still fixated on the floor and then _feels_ it: that _virtuous aura_ jerking violently like a windswept flame, losing a considerable amount of energy before skyrocketing upwards once more with the suddenness of a lightning strike. He could feel the lines blurring; hear the thrum faltering; see Barry’s eyes darkening and brightening all at once. And it hits him like a ton of bricks.

_He’s attracted to me._

His _influence_ starts to sway and bloat of its own accord, coiling around Barry’s core like tight fingers squeezing a ripened fruit. And Len is poised to soak up everything the young man has to offer. Barry keens as Len’s own hardening length, straining against wet denim, presses deliciously against his.

“Well, ‘ _Barry’_? _Why_ am I really here.” The harsh tone is gone, replaced with something honest. Len knows the answer. Len knows that Barry knows the answer. But he wants to hear him say it. _Needs it._ “Is there something else you **_wanted_**?”

And there’s too much significance behind that one word for his meaning to be lost in translation.

Finally, green eyes meet his of their own accord, slightly glazed, looking up under long lashes; whatever internal battle the kid was fighting - apparently over.

And despite the control he was radiating, Len felt like he was on the precipice waiting to find out who won.

“ _You_.”

Len lets out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. For a single word there contained so many different emotions.

There was reluctance in the statement, guilt, shame and something akin to defeat. The side of Len that swirled with _Sin_ puffed at the admission, ate it up like the spoils of a time-long victory he’d been yearning for since the Start, wanted to leave the kid hanging without release, leave him _wanting_ and siphon off his energy as he sinned.

But there was also an uncertain question in there, a fearful request for something _more._ And Len finds that the side of him that bucks authority, detests being a lackey and simply ‘doing what he’s told’ because ‘those are the rules’ wants nothing more than to give the kid exactly what he wants and flip a middle finger of Biblical proportions directly at the _Bosses._

The words of the vagrant come back to him and Len suddenly couldn’t give a damn about what was expected of him, what the Powers That Be said about opposing forces, taboo, annihilation, and such like. About a history filled with fighting and hatred and pushing the _Virtue_ into the dirt so he could rise up.

All Len knows is that he’s stood in the _Saints and Sinners_ bathroom with Barry Allen pushed up against the dirty counter, open, _giving,_ face flushed and erection pointing straight at him like a dowsing rod;  _and Len feels a surge of_ something _, the likes of which he’s never felt._

And because Len is a Rogue, the decision isn’t difficult. “And if I were in a _Charitable_ mood…”

Apparently Barry isn’t expecting such willingness because he looks at Len like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

And then, like a coiled spring releasing, Barry dives on him lightning quick, like a bolt of electricity finally able to earth itself. Len can only grab those slim hips, hissing at the pressure, to try and halt the forward momentum onto his mouth. It’s all teeth and wet breath and stifling heat and Len smirks as sweaty palms pull his head more firmly into the fray.

It’s quick and messy and uncivilised and Len muses it’s almost like the kid thinks that the faster he does it, the less likely the Powers That Be will notice his ‘defection’ into the Dark Side.

_And that simply won’t do._

Len rives the head back, detaching their mouths with a wet pop, leaving Barry jaw hanging, panting out a breath and looking confused. “Don’t get me wrong, Barry, I admire your tenacity, I enjoy a quickie as much as the next guy. And it’s entirely appropriate given our surroundings...” he drawls, waving a spare hand at the bathroom.

The kid shakes the grip from his hair and backs up. He coughs nervously, eyes wide and skittish. “...But?”

Len briefly closes his eyes and smiles at the kid’s attempt to act blasé. “ _But,_ that isn’t going to fly this time. I’m willing to give you what you want but, _my rules._ And Rule Number 1? _Patience is a Virtue.”_

The long suffering groan echoes off the walls, and Len decides he likes it when the speedster groans, even if it’s over a pun.

“So, deal?”

Barry is far more relaxed now, some of that energy receding back into his body once he realises he’s in the clear, and he looks at Len sincerely. “Deal.”

Len straightens his shoulders, regards the younger man with dark eyes and crooks a finger. Barry swallows visibly and approaches Len, his aura misfiring invisibly with every step. He gets close to Len, worrying his lip with front teeth before hesitating and going back in for the kiss. But right as his lids flutter closed and he cants his head forward, Len is putting an index finger to that lip, halting the movement.

The eyes flutter back open in an instant, worry and unsureness flickering in the forefront until Len speaks again.

“Rule Number 2, ask before you act.”

Barry lets out a breath. “May I kiss you?” The voice is low and threadbare.

And Len looks for a long moment before affirming with a single nod.

For one who was so silent, Barry is moaning into the kiss with breath that Len doesn’t seem to have, and he feels lightheaded with the sound. He wants _more_ of those sounds. Wants to paint the dull white tiles with it.

_Len wants to overwhelm him._


	4. Chapter 4

Once upon a time clashing together in any capacity would put them on alert, the energy release drawing unwanted attention. And Len knows that they’re putting on a lightshow as they reach deeper; whisps of ozone flaring out, burning up, sparks hitting the walls, auras bleeding into each other like ink in water. But he doesn’t care, it’s not like _Saints_ is going to bat an eye at the damage. And apparently neither does Barry (or _Charity_ he should say), usually the one concerned with putting a damper on their altercations, now painfully hard and starting to rut against Len.

Len grabs a handful of thick hair, yanking the head back and dragging teeth from the wrecked mouth to purr and nibble into an ear. “So needy, so **wanton,** _Flash._ ”

He uses his other hand to draw a thumb across the plump lips. There’s a high blush on the speedster’s cheeks and Len wonders if _he_ looks so unkempt. But if he does, Barry doesn’t seem to care: pupils dilated, mouth parted, jeans still bulging obscenely.

And although he already has an idea, and embodies a _Cardinal Sin_ , Len is still a gentleman, and he still feels inclined to ask. “Rule Number 3, always tell me what _you_ **need** , Barry.”

Unable to answer with words, the kid just sucks the intruding thumb past his lips, drawing the whole thing inside wet heat until he’s kissing Len’s knuckle, then withdrawing, chasing a tight ring down to the thumb tip, languid and heavy.

He turns lazy eyes up at Len who’s already nodding before he gets to the, “May I...May I go down on you?”

Len doesn’t know who does it, or how it happens, and he suspects superspeed is the culprit, but one moment they’re both leaning against a grubby sink, and the next he’s got Barry Allen, _the Flash,_ **_Charity_** , on his knees before him unzipping his fly. And he needs a moment to process that; the Trifecta all wrapped up into one mouth that Len is now filling in the most sinful way he can think of.

The sight is almost enough to undo him right there.

And _fuck_ does the kid go to it. Diving down to his fist with tight lips, drawing the tongue from base to tip, lathing the spongy head until it’s glistening in the low light, and sucking down again with the barest scrape of teeth. He gags when Len’s hips cant forward but all that does is make Len hotter.

He’s had better, seedy men and women he’s picked up in the past, techniques you can only learn when you’ve played the field for a long time. Yet Len doesn’t care about technique right now.

And even when the vibrating kicks in and he’s jamming a fist into his mouth, alternating between grasping the sink in a white knuckle grip and banging his fist against it when he almost gives into the sensation (and he’s sure his _aura_ is turning the porcelain black as he keens silently at the peeling heavens) he still doesn’t care.

Because even if the kid had no skill it would still be the best head he’s ever had for the simple reason of the who giving it.

 _Charity_ itself, Central City’s cherubic speedster and Mr. Goody Two Shoes; saving the world from Greed and thievery; the city from Captain Cold; Len from his own childhood demon.

Having all that on his knees, jeans covered in the filth of a _Saints’_ bathroom floor, choking on Len’s dick and going back for more, well, it’s one Hell of an aphrodisiac, and Len has to force the forehead backward, remove the stimulation and think of the rising price of gas, guard rotations at the bank, the weather, anything to stop him losing himself too quickly.

But despite being on the cusp of bliss, it isn’t enough and Len needs _more,_ bolstered by his pulsing _aura_ and the pure **_need_** rolling off his partner.

Barry starts to rise and Len loosens his grip on the brown locks but only to point to the counter and bark out, “Take off your pants and hop up.”

He heads off the query before it arrives in Barry’s brain. “Rule Number 5: Do as you’re told.”

But if the kid thinks that was an unfair rule, he doesn’t show it, practically teleporting into position between two grimy sinks with nothing more than a flash of light to prove he’d ever moved.

When Len gets his bearings, his jaw almost goes slack at the sight. The kid is leaning against the mirror naked from the waist down, shirt unbuttoned and ridden up to expose a nearly hairless navel and perky nipples. His eyes are glazed, lidded, teeth worrying a lip as a blush rises on his pale cheeks. Hair used, pupils dilated, and bent knees framing an obscenely hard cock weeping against his belly. And beneath, tight smooth balls hovering above a perfect, pinkened asshole.

Between the removal of clothing and perching himself there’s definitely been some window dressing on Barry’s part, but Len would be a fool to complain over something so _hot._ And when Len flits his gaze back down to that pucker, all thoughts of gentlemanly behaviour go out the window.

He grasps Bary’s firm cheeks, lifts and pulls forward so his whole ass is hanging off the stained surface. The thing is filthy, covered in scum and questionable substances from who knows how long ago, and although he’s planning on adding a few more to the mix before the night it through, Len doesn’t want any of that near his mouth.

He pushes the thighs back until they’re almost flush against the speedster’s taut stomach, and Barry has to grip the edge of a flanking sink to keep from sliding off. But if he does, it’ll only bring the object of Len’s desire closer to where he needs it.

Len looks up between Barry’s thighs, eyes darkening ever more with each passing second, his energy surging. “Rule Number 6: never stifle your moans.”

And without a second thought, Len’s dipping down into that musky crease, licking from tailbone to balls. And Barry reacts with gusto, tipping his head back with a crack against the mirror and letting out a sinful moan that has Len smiling lecherously as he works.

Soon the room is a chorus of Barry’s breathy hitches and lewd wet noises, punctuated with, “Oh Gods,” and drawn out, “Yesses," fueling Len’s **want**. The spit is coursing down Barry’s crack and onto the floor, the speedster’s cock jumping at each torturous stab of tongue, oozing more precum, and Len is certain his chin is covered in juices of all kinds by now, but caring is the last thing on his mind, even when he feels his tongue start to ache.

“How long have you wanted this, Barry,” Len asks, replacing his tongue with a rolling thumb pad.

“Oh god-weeks, _months_ -ahh. Yeess. Thought about you a lot.”

“And what was I doing to you in these thoughts.”

“AH-You take your cold gun and use it so I’m frozen in place, can’t move, can’t run away, save for my ass which is exposed, and you’re eating me out til I can’t stand-ah fuck, then fucking me right there on the job, having your way while I’m bound.”

_Fuck._

Len can only dive back in in response to that, his own cock jumping at the imagery, and Barry is babbling nonsense by the time Len deems the hole ripe for use. His cries reach a crescendo, back snapping, when Len replaces his tongue with a deft finger curled just _so._

“Please, please, please,” is the tattoo on the mirror now starting to mist up. “Please, I need more- I _need_ _more_.”

And Len doesn’t need told twice. He swipes his chin and heads to the condom machine barely hanging on the wall. He slaps the side once, twice, three times. Then punches it, but to no avail. He’s ready to pull the thing off the wall when Barry pants out, “Here, I got it.”

He turns to see the kid pulling out a condom wrapper and small lube from his jeans pocket. At Len’s raised eyebrow he at least has the decency to look embarrassed. But Len doesn’t ask any more questions, not right now anyway. Instead he strides back, takes the items from Barry’s hand and makes a ‘turn around gesture’ with an index finger.

Once he’s greeted by that pale ass poised so perfectly does he respond to the kid’s ‘preparedness’ with a stinging slap to a soft cheek. The yelp reverberates beautifully. “Planning on getting lucky, Barry?”

But the kid has nothing to say.

He rolls on the condom, applies the lube to himself, sighing at the cool sensation, and then between Barry’s cheeks. Only when his cock is nudging the kid’s pucker is when he meets Barry’s gaze in the mirror directly in front of them. Len has to say, the view is quite lovely; he doesn’t ever recall seeing the speedster looking so debauched, and he thrills at that prospect.

“Rule Number 7…” Len pushes inside and Barry whimpers long and drawn out, eyes almost rolling back into his head. Only when Len’s completely seated does he continue, still meeting Barry’s gaze directly. “Don’t take your eyes off mine _."_

And without further ado, Len starts ploughing Barry for all that he’s worth, holding the hips in a bruising grip, sheathing and unsheathing himself in that scalding tightness, driving himself closer to insanity with every thrust.

Barry’s moans ramp up in volume as he’s mercilessly fucked, practically bouncing from wall to wall, and Len is past the point of caring if anyone in the bar can hear them. And if they can, well, he’ll just be leaving _Saints_ with a brand new rep.

Barry has lost all semblance of _Virtue_ and babbles incoherently, rocking back to take Len deeper and bracing himself, palms flat on the mirror.

Whenever his eyes close or his head drops to the filthy surface, Len responds with an, “Eyes on _me, Flash,”_ before slapping Barry’s ass with stinging precision.

Their _auras_ are unrecognisable at this point, flailing violently and sending out arcs of energy with every brutal rut into Barry. Len can feel the younger man’s core flashing and dying, all hints of generosity, kindness, _Charity_ falling flat and rising up again like a yoyo. Meanwhile Len’s own _influence_ feeds off the **want** off Barry, sending out dizzying spirals of _avarice_ to all corners.

He wonders if he can fuck the _Virtue_ right out of Barry, truly eclipse the Saint with Sin.

It might be this thought that gets to Len, it might simply be the perfect grip of Barry’s ass, or the noises pouring out of his mouth, or months of tension coming to a head (or the dicking he’s giving the High-Ups right now) but Len can feel the heat pooling in his navel and his cock singing with blood, and he knows he won’t last much longer.

And with Barry arching like that he knows he won’t either.

He reaches around to Barry’s cock, pumping in time with his thrusts with a cool grip then, smirking evilly, he wraps a tight fist around the base. “ _Tell me want you_ **_want_** _, Barry._ ”

Barry nearly splits himself in half trying to dislodge Len. He whines, trying in vain to angle that sweet spot onto Len’s cock, but apparently it isn’t enough by the way he thrashes. “ _For the love of God, Snart, let me come!”_

But Len isn’t satisfied with that. “I _said,_ **_tell me what you want.”_ **

And Len can feel the pressure release within Barry’s core, finally giving in fully to the _Vice._ “ _I want to come!_ ** _I want you to make me come!”_ **

Len grins, resuming his thrusts and stroking. “Then come for me.”

And the strangled moan it produces is music to his ears. He pumps once, twice and the speedster arches up with a, “Yeessss!” shooting ribbons of come all over the counter and floor, his energy crackling with power.

Barry’s ass spasms on Len’s cock at what feels like superspeed, gripping impossibly tighter, and the dual sensations tip him over the edge. And he’s dragging Barry’s hips to his, spurting deep inside with jerky pulses, panting and hissing out his release as he’s filled with pure bliss.


	5. Chapter 5

For a split second he feels Barry’s _aura_ in full, touched by that Divine spirit, and he watches as the summit of his own _aura_ sends arcs of light high above them like stars, co-mingling with each other and the ten concentric rings of the crown moulded ceiling, and Len’s ready to shed a tear it’s so damn good.

But if it isn’t for Len holding on for dear life, he muddily thinks their opposing forces would try and throw each of them apart, and he isn’t prepared to test that by loosening his hold on the kid.

The high starts its descent, and they stay like that for long moments, Len now draped over Barry, both panting out as their twitches subside, catching their breath.

But it soon becomes apparent he’s going to have to let go, the stink of ozone begins spewing from their bodies, and Len doesn’t want to be held responsible for gassing the patrons of _Saints._

So he withdraws, groggily disposes of the condom and zips up. But Barry has barely moved, only stiffly rising with a dopey grin on his face.

The afterglow is wearing off but Len is reeling from a different high. The feeling of suspense borne from waiting for a penalty from On High to drop. And he idly wishes he brought his cold gun.

The penalty for letting the _Balance_ fall completely out of orbit can be severe; it’s happened to other counterpart pairs - _Wrath_ and _Patience_ have had a rocky past - sometimes the Powers intervene directly, strip energy or outright smite offenders, letting the entity into a new host, a _better_ host that will do a better job.

But how they’ll react to a _counterpart pair_ bumping uglies is whole new territory.

Barry redresses and regards Len with flushed cheeks, still grinning - chuckling, in fact. And Len wonders what’s so funny.

“I’m glad you’re finding humor in the situation, because I doubt the _Bosses_ will once they get here.”

Barry straightens up, that cocky grin firmly back in place and hands on hips, ever the superhero stance, as if he was about to loose a quip and foil a villain. The only thing missing was the suit. “They aren’t coming, I can assure you.”

Len must’ve looked confused because Barry surveys the room without really looking, and says, “You don’t feel that?”

Len’s brow furrows. “And what would _that_ be.”

A bright smile. “You’re right, there’s too many artefacts here, let’s go somewhere less...mixed up.”

And with no warning, Len’s head spins as Barry flashes them to another location. Len only catches dark sky and slight drop in temperature before he’s skidding and falling flat to his face. Prone, he stares at the rocky ground for a moment contemplating his life choices before getting to his feet and fixing his counterpart with an ugly look.

Then he realises he’s outside his safehouse on Dock 5. The barest halo of light from a boarded up window tells him Mick is inside.

Barry is back in his Flash suit, and just like that it’s almost, _almost_ like Len didn’t just spend the past 20+ minutes banging the kid through the wall, but there’s a lilt in the kid’s stance and a levity to his spirit.

“Now, try again,” Barry says.

And Len let’s himself feel despite the million and one burning questions he has, not including how the younger man knew where he was holed up.

_Oh._

He let his mind cast about again, only to reach the same conclusion. Where before there’d been a bloated sense of _Greed_ , the tendrils of _Avarice_ reaching into the world of men, his _influence_ rising, proud and strong, now Len could feel nothing. No hint of a growing tide of thievery and itchy fingers, no spec of kindness and generosity needing to be quelled by his agents of _Sin._

There...was _Balance._

Len sees the look on the kid’s face, shit eating and proud of himself, and Len makes an automatic reach for his gun, cursing when he remembers he doesn’t have it.

“ _How,_ ” Len begins, biting off the word. “You were **_wanton, needy_** _,_ and you **_took_** without question, without regard for anything other than your own selfish desires.”

Barry walks languidly towards him, and even though Len is confused and improvising - something he despises doing - he takes some pleasure in the fact that the saunter is slightly off-kilter. He knows with the healing it won’t last, but he’s at least getting his money’s worth hoarding quips for future face-offs.

“You’re right,” says Barry, the voice only betraying the mature superhero figure beneath the suit when it cracks slightly, from excitement - Len had learned over their hero-villain relationship. “And you **_gave_** me exactly what I wanted _,_ because to you, it was **_right_**.”

Len let’s out a single sharp laugh before he’s back to drawling. “What you call giving, Flash, I call pity.”

“I’m not talking about you making me beg you to let me come,” says Barry, and even though he’s already heard more filthy things tonight, for a moment Len is jarred by such a sentence coming from the younger man’s mouth. From a _Virtue_ ’s mouth. “I’m talking about us, about me ‘giving in to _Sin’_ and you reacting to that head on to restore equilibrium, even if it was a subconscious decision.”

Len thinks he might be the only person on planet Earth to be hailed as a hero for bending a _Divine_ being over a filthy bar sink and ploughing them into next Tuesday.

“You knew of the punishment for failing the balance, knew I could end up being destroyed over something as simple as attraction, and you _didn’t agree_ with that. You could’ve ‘done as expected’ and walked away, left me there and increased your _influence_ off my growing need, but you didn’t. You **_generously_ ** fulfilled my need because to you, someone shouldn’t be punished over attraction, it wasn’t **_just_** _._ ”

There was something akin to boasting in the kid’s voice, a triumphant finality.

For the first time all evening, Len’s walls come shattering down. _The condom. The lube._  “You _PLANNED_ this, _didn’t you!?”_

And there it was, that cocksure smile, the buzzing energy dancing in his eyes. Barry had never been good at hiding his giddiness. He wore his heart on his sleeve.

“Well, I had some help.”

Len turns away and starts pacing around all the while making a note to pay a visit to Lisa next chance he gets. If _Lust_ and _Charity_ are in cahoots he can’t help but wonder which other poor hapless sons of bitches are going to fall victim to the same ploy.

“I knew there was good in you, knew I had to bring it to the surface to cancel out the _Sin_ you’d created. It was a gamble but it paid off. You were worried about me, I felt it.

Len can’t decide if he’s more scandalized or insulted. “I’m surprised you were able to feel anything other than bliss, going off the noises you were making!” It’s a poor, sharp comeback but it makes Len feel damn good after being played like a fiddle.

“Well, that too,” beams Barry, tipping his head flirtatiously, and Len can’t help but preen slightly beneath the broiling sea of indignation.

He stalks forward. “So what’s next, _Flash_. Because when the _Sin_ of the world starts to pervade the masses once more, I won’t be falling for the same trick again, count on that.”

Barry regards Len with playful eyes and his speed energy starts to crackle across his limbs. “Beats fighting though, right?”

He can’t help it, a slow smirk spreads across Len’s face. He plays back the tracklist of moans in his head, the pure **want** in the kid’s eyes as Len fucked him like a whore, the begging, the tightness that made him see _Divinity_ for the first time in his life. The invitation was clear.

His shoulders relax and he turns calming blue eyes to the sparkling green ones. “Yeah...beats fighting.”

The yellow energy overtakes the kid’s body, shooting through his irises, and Len thinks he’s about to see an afterimage as the kid takes off.

“But, Rule number 8...” he interjects with a raised finger, and the speedster’s muscles untense.

If this is the Game now, then he plans on making the next move.  “Next time you’re feeling... _sinful_ , I get to bring my cold gun...”

And Barry’s face goes the slightest bit slack, his cheeks pinkening, and Len can feel the smallest hints of a _core_ on the fritz again.

“...And _really_ **_give_** you something to grin about.”

Barry turns his head, licks him with his gaze once more, shrugs and says, “ _Charity never faileth_ ,” before smiling naughtily and disappearing into the city with a crack and whoosh of wind that blows warm across Len’s face.

A minute passes, maybe two and as the dust settles, and the docks go still once more, Len can finally take stock of the situation. Once upon a time he might’ve raged at losing the throne, retaliated immediately, but he doesn’t feel that way, content with a different prize this time round.

With a lingering look at the night sky Len already starts listing all of the heists he’s going to rain down on the kid over the next few weeks. And maybe a small jaunt just to confirm if he really does own a copy of the poem.

He sees Jupiter bright in the darkness and shakes his head disbelievingly at the day’s events.

 _Justice,_   _honestly._

Heading towards the safehouse, to Mick, and his gun - likely fully charged by now - he starts making a mental list of things he needs to do tonight, beginning with a new pair of pants and an address look-up; he owes _Fate_ the ass-kicking of a lifetime.

**Author's Note:**

> Come bitch at me at kleptoandpyro.tumblr.com.
> 
> Alternatively, join our Arrowverse community in Discord: [The Flarrowverse Shipyard](https://discord.gg/D4RFsRq)


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